


A CampWolfe Christmas Tale

by MidLifeLez



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, berena - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidLifeLez/pseuds/MidLifeLez
Summary: I'm not sure where this is going, but seeing as I can't stop thinking about Bernie and Serena's first Christmas, there should be a few chapters, at least.





	1. Breakfast

She’s not sure why, but Bernie wakes up early on Christmas morning. Really early. It’s still resolutely black in the room, but she doesn’t need to see to know that she’s in Serena’s bed, right arm tucked under Serena’s neck and left hand resting on Serena’s hip, her front nudged up against Serena’s back. She breathes in the scent of Serena, nuzzles into her hairline and places a feather-light kiss there. She doesn’t know whether or not the novelty should have worn off by now, but it nowhere near has; she lies there taking deep breaths and quietly humming them out, every now and then dropping a kiss on to Serena’s neck and shoulders.

Serena opens one eye to look at the clock, sees 05:12 shining back at her, and closes it again. Without moving, without even really opening her mouth more than is strictly necessary, she says, “I didn’t even get up this early at Christmas when Elinor was tiny, Bernie. You’d better not be trying to get me up.” It comes out in a growl. A friendly growl, but a growl nonetheless. “No, no, I’m not, I promise, Serena,” Bernie whispers, feathering more kisses into Serena’s hair, through a smile. “Ssshhhh, sshh, sshh, go back to sleep, sssh, see you in the morning.” She pulls Serena closer, her arm around Serena’s waist now, and settles her head on the pillow. “Sleep tight.”

\---

It’s another couple of hours before Serena stirs again, but this time Bernie is fast asleep and breathing heavily into Serena’s shoulder blade. She tries to slip out of the bed (Jason will be up before long and if all of the children turn up there’s a lot of food to prepare, and Serena wants it to be just perfect), but Bernie’s arm is firmly around her middle and she’s wrapped her foot around Serena’s ankle, too. Only after several minutes of trying gently to extricate herself from Bernie’s grip does she realise that Bernie isn’t asleep at all, and is simply buggering about. The second she tuts in realisation, Bernie dissolves into giggles, squeezing Serena tighter and kissing her spine as many times as she can get away with before Serena breaks free to sit on the edge of the bed, turning to look at her. Even through the mess of blonde curls, she can spot those puppy-dog eyes begging forgiveness.

“It’s nearly 7.30. We agreed.” Serena says, trying to maintain her irritation.

Bernie squints at the clock. “It’s 7.26. Come back to bed for four minutes.” She lifts the covers in invitation, not very accidentally revealing most of her naked body and smirking as Serena’s eyes can’t help but track downwards.

She stands, though, and starts wrapping a robe around herself. “You should know by now, Ms. Wolfe,” – she’s using her stern consultant voice, dwelling deliciously on the zzz of ‘Ms.’ – “that I will never be done with you in four minutes.”

Bernie drops her face into the pillow and groans. “But. Sereeeeeena!”

“Have a tantrum all you like, I’m sure it won’t be the last we’ll witness today.” Serena’s gaze drifts towards one of the photos of Elinor on the chest of drawers. “Tea or coffee?” she asks, turning to head downstairs.

Bernie harrumphs into the pillow again, but concedes defeat and pushes herself up onto her elbows. “Tea, please.”

\---

Jason is already in the kitchen eating breakfast by the time Bernie ambles in, PJs and a hoodie pulled on skewiff. “Merry Christmas, Bernie!” he calls cheerfully. “Auntie Serena says I can’t open any presents until we’ve all had breakfast, so please hurry up.”

Bernie smiles at Serena. “Well, Auntie Serena hasn’t even wished me a merry Christmas yet,” she says, in mock admonition, picking up the mug of tea that’s been left for her. Serena takes it out of her hands and replaces it on the side. “Merry Christmas, Bernie,” she whispers, slipping her hands around Bernie’s waist as she kisses her - not entirely chastely, but for a PG audience, let’s say. “Merry Christmas, Serena,” comes the reply, thick with emotion. Serena brushes Bernie’s fringe to one side and looks deep into those dark eyes, eyes that are just now threatening to spill a tear or two. Serena strokes her thumb across Bernie’s cheekbone and smiles that reassuring smile: the one that says _I know everything that’s going on in there and it’s OK._ Bernie smiles back. The one that says _I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I will die trying to honour the privilege._

“Will you open the champagne, darling?" 

“Champagne?!” Bernie looks from Serena to the bottle and back again. “Isn’t it supposed to be Bucks Fizz? It’s barely eight o’clock.”

Serena gives her a wicked grin and places two champagne flutes on the table. “Water it down if you need to, soldier,” she teases. “Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon OK, or would you like some of Jason’s Coco Pops?”

“Oh you are-“ Bernie moves to wrap herself around Serena, a play wrestle brewing when Jason loses his patience. “I’d _really_ like to open some presents soon, Auntie Serena,” he says. Bernie clears her throat, throwing raised eyebrows at Serena, who throws them back. “Sorry Jason. Erm, scrambled eggs would be lovely.”

 

 


	2. Arrivals

Serena pulls her mac on as she steps out onto the patio, looking first to the end of the garden and then at Bernie, stood shoulders hunched in the cold. “You know there are some people saying those things’ll kill you,” she says playfully, nodding her head towards the cigarette in Bernie’s hand.

“Bad science, the lot of it,” Bernie replies as she takes a final drag and treads on the stub. She makes sure to blow the smoke in the opposite direction before taking the opportunity to run her hands inside Serena’s coat and pull her in to a hug. Resting her chin on top of Serena’s head, she resumes her watch over the garden. Their breathing syncs up and Serena listens to Bernie’s heartbeat slowing down. There’s something about Bernie’s hands tracing up and down her back that feels less restful, though.

“Penny for them,” Serena says, eventually, stepping back a little so that she can look Bernie in the eye. Bernie resists for a second before scrunching her face up, recognising that Serena is not going to believe that there’s nothing troubling her. “It’s just,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. A soft sigh. “Charlie. I don’t… She’s not… What if...” The end of any of those sentences eluding her, Bernie just frowns at her feet before looking back up at Serena.

“She’s coming.” Serena is firm but warm. “Cam said he didn’t even have to twist her arm. She wants to be here today, or at least for some of it.” A smile threatens to break across Bernie’s lips. “And we weren’t on the phone for long, but I don’t think I heard her cursing my name or anything. Didn’t hear any hissing, or incantations.” She peers carefully in to Bernie’s eyes, smiling a thousand-watt smile until Bernie, too, relaxes in to a grin. “If we’ve anyone to worry about today, I’m afraid it’s Elinor.”

Bernie purses her lips for a moment. “You think she’s going to put a hex on me?” she jokes, opening the door to allow them back inside.

“Not quite, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up for more than minimum levels of civility. Last time we spoke she kept referring to my ‘ _lover_ ’, as if you were some sordid little secret.” Bernie smirks as she slips the coat off Serena’s shoulders and goes to hang it up. “Well I’m not a secret.”

\---

Charlotte and Cameron arrive first, a loud rap on the door about 10 minutes before they’re actually due. Bernie’s eyes immediately seek Serena’s and they silently agree to answer the door together, both rosy-cheeked from their work in the kitchen (and the accompanying sherry that Serena insists is obligatory).

“Ms. Campbell! Ms. Wolfe!” Cameron jokes as they appear on the doorstep.   

“Mum’ll do just fine today, Cam,” Bernie says, ruffling his hair and giving him a bear hug. “Happy Christmas, my darling boy.” He lets her plant a kiss on his cheek before he moves on to greet Serena, leaving Bernie facing Charlotte as Serena watches over Cam’s shoulder.

“Merry Christmas Mum.” Charlotte is every bit as good at eye contact as Bernie, Serena realises.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie.” Bernie reaches out to take the bottle of wine from Charlotte’s hand and somewhere along the way finds the courage to wrap her arms around her daughter. “I’m so glad you came.” 

They’re both blinking back tears. _Goodness only knows what’ll happen if these two aren’t given a chance to compose themselves,_ thinks Serena. “Charlotte,” she says, “it’s wonderful to meet you. Your mother’s told me so much about you. And I _love_ this jumper.” She takes Charlotte by the shoulders as if to look more closely, giving Bernie the opportunity to turn towards the coat hooks and swipe a hand across damp cheekbones. When she turns back the three others are making their way towards the lounge, Serena’s hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. She bites down hard on her cheek, wipes her palms on her jeans, and follows.

\---

It helps that Jason already knows Cam, and he has no problem with Charlotte joining them as long as she doesn’t talk too much during the Who marathon he’s cued up. Bernie and Serena refuse all offers of help finishing off lunch, though Bernie ends up standing in the doorway watching her children and Jason, an unselfconscious smile on her lips, while Serena does most of the work. Not that she’d have it any other way; glancing at Bernie every so often Serena feels that tightening in her stomach, the thrill that comes with seeing Bernie happy. Happy here. When the doorbell finally rings to hail Elinor’s arrival, Serena is in the frantic last throes of pulling the meal together and so it is that Bernie is the one to answer the door.

“Oh.” 

“Elinor, merry Christmas!” In the short silence that follows, Bernie is suddenly struck by the fact that she is about to invite Elinor into what the young woman probably considers is rather more her home than her mother’s _lover_ ’s. She stands to one side and opens the door wider, saying nothing.

“Yeah,” Elinor says as she steps inside, looking Bernie up and down.

“Your mother’s just in the…” But Elinor is already on her way upstairs.      


	3. Lunch

Serena sits at the head of the table, Bernie to her right and Jason to her left. Charlotte takes the seat next to her mother and smiles shyly at her as she unfolds the festive napkin on to her lap. Watching, Cam grins for the umpteenth time that day and sits next to Jason, thinking about reviving their discussion of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver [lazy deus ex machina, says Cam; highly advanced technology isn’t lazy, says Jason] but diving in to the bowl of perfectly roasted potatoes instead. Eventually Elinor comes down and takes the remaining seat, scowling at Bernie’s hand on Serena’s until Bernie moves it away and Serena smiles a _sorry_. Let’s just get through lunch.

“So, Elinor, Mum says you’re studying French? Er, joyeux, um, Noël?” Cameron Dunn: still terrible at ice breakers, but still trying, bless him. Serena smiles and tries to catch her daughter’s eye. _Play nice_.

“Wow, languages weren’t your thing then,” Elinor quips, smiling to herself before realising that everyone at the table is looking at her, mouths slightly open. Except for Jason, who nods in agreement at his cousin’s perfectly fair assessment and eats another forkful of goose.

“Joking, obviously. Yes, I’m doing French. But I’m working on some film projects, that’s really my thing.” Elinor is still only pushing her food around the plate rather than eating it, but her enthusiasm on this topic relieves some of the tension around the table and Cam gamely asks more questions.

Bernie desperately wants to strike up a conversation with Charlotte, but between worrying she’ll ask the wrong thing (‘What’s your father doing today?’ wouldn’t be the best of starts, she realises) and fearing that her voice at the table might set Elinor off again, she ends up just looking at Charlotte between every mouthful, lips soundlessly half-formed around a word before creasing in to a smile.

“I take it you weren’t left in charge of the food, Mum,” Charlotte whispers, leaning forwards conspiratorially. Bernie can’t help but laugh, though it does, as she feared it would, silence the rest of the table. “No, I can claim almost no credit,” Bernie says, turning from Charlotte to Serena. “Serena is a wonderful cook. It’s washing up duties for me.” She and Serena smile at one another, their eyes locking.

A fraction too long for Elinor, who makes a vomiting sound and throws her cutlery onto her plate. “God, is this what it’s like around here now, Jason? How do you put up with it?” She’s trying to leave herself room to claim this, too, is a joke, but there’s a tightness in her mouth that ensures she sounds as cruel as she means to be.

Jason looks up from his plate nonplussed. “Bernie and Auntie Serena love each other,” he says, simply. “I don’t really have to put up with anything, except sometimes they cuddle on the sofa-“ Cam and Charlotte shift uncomfortably in their seats, taking a sudden and dramatic interest in the tablecloth, while Elinor shoots a furious look at the pair’s mother, who is – is she? She is! She’s smiling at Jason, a flush across her cheeks. _God!_

“You don’t have to explain anything, Jason,” Serena cuts in without taking her eyes off Elinor, who returns her glare with interest. “Elinor knows perfectly well what a relationship entails, and if she can’t cope with loving looks or a cuddle then perhaps she’s not quite so grown up as she thinks she is.” Neither mother nor daughter looks away, though Elinor winces a little at the slight. “Could you pass me the gravy, Charlotte? Shall I make more?”

\---

Serena insists that they all stay together in the living room in the afternoon, and though Elinor disappears again for a short while, she does eventually join them. There are going to be presents, after all. Mostly small tokens of affection, though Serena had asked the chap in Waterstones which books would be best for a budding filmmaker and she and Bernie had taken a long time over choosing from his recommendations. They’d decided to buy all of their presents together irrespective of how well each knew the other’s offspring, starting as they meant to go on. “I’m not sure _I’m_ the best person to buy for my kids, for goodness’ sake,” Bernie had said as they’d trudged around town, Serena simply squeezing her arm in reply.

Cam’s present for Jason (Charlotte’s name is also on the tag, but it’s clear who did the shopping) is Doctor Who Monopoly, a game the six of them start about an hour before it’s just Cam, Bernie and Jason at the table. Elinor is first to drift away, complaining that everyone (Bernie) is too competitive; she slumps in front of the telly, flicking through the channels and picking lazily at a box of chocolates. Charlotte breaks next, complaining that everyone (Cam and Bernie) is ganging up on her. She goes and sits on the sofa, trying to make conversation with Elinor about Harry Potter (which, though she wants to sniff about it, Ellie has always loved and is slightly jealous of the Ravenclaw scarf her mother and, and, _urgh_ and _Bernie_ bought her as a little extra, even though they both know that Charlie will almost certainly never wear it).

Soon Serena decides it’s time for coffee.

 

“Irish?” Bernie whispers over her shoulder, having made an excuse to join Serena in the kitchen.

“Is it that obvious I need it?” Serena says, relaxing into Bernie’s arms as they meet around her middle.

“It’s OK,” Bernie says, in to the hair somewhere above Serena’s right ear. “It’s going to take her some time, we can’t say we weren’t prepared for that. Just because _you_ think I’m better looking than her father…” The pair of them chuckle, enjoying being close again after staying carefully out of range since lunch.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Elinor spits, grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it at the tap. Bernie leaps away from Serena and busies herself with fetching milk from the fridge. “Ellie…” Serena says, drawing out the last syllable in to a plea. “Can’t you at least try to be happy for me?” She looks at Bernie, who is focusing very hard on her fringe. “For us?”

“Oh I’m ecstatic” - every consonant rattles angrily around Elinor’s mouth - “for you, mother.” She pulls a smile that is a cast-iron secret from her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I want a front row seat.” Every stair thuds under her step before they hear a door slam shut upstairs.

“Maybe I should take Cam and Charlotte back to mine,” Bernie says, still thumbing the carton of milk, nervously.

“No, no, absolutely not. She’s behaving like a spoilt brat, and whatever else I got wrong, I raised her to know that that sort of behaviour gets you nowhere. Not with me, anyway,” Serena takes the milk and finishes the coffees. “Besides, I haven’t had my Christmas present from you, yet,” she says, lowering her voice.

“Oh, you think you’re getting one, do you?” Bernie teases.

“And a present,” says Serena, picking up the tray to leave Bernie thinking cold-shower thoughts in the kitchen.


	4. Goodnight

By the evening it had settled in to a fairly standard Christmas, despite the occasionally uneasy novelty of this particular collection of people spending the day together. The television is on, though largely unwatched. The fire has turned their cheeks pink and ensured that the wine (a delicious Chilean Shiraz from a case that Jason had presented to Serena that morning) is the perfect temperature. Every so often the crinkle of a chocolate wrapper cuts across the general hum of the room.

Elinor and Charlotte sit, one at the end of the sofa and the other on the nearby armchair, flicking through new books and chatting about post-university options. It’s not entirely without hesitation and awkward silence, but it’s a start. They agree, at least, that Holby probably doesn’t hold the careers they want, and they share stories of nights out in London that Bernie tries not to wince at.

Jason is sat cross-legged on the rug, carefully emptying bags from his new Lego set and arranging the pieces by colour; Cam, perched on a cushion, looks over the instructions and raises an eyebrow. There’s hours of construction here. “You can help if you do as I say,” Jason says, without looking up. Glancing at Serena, Cam nods. “Fine… fine.”

At the other end of the sofa, Bernie and Serena. Serena’s head is on Bernie’s shoulder, Bernie’s arm around her to allow her to absent-mindedly tease her fingers through Serena’s hair. They’re both wearing a contented half-smile, sat here in the middle of their children, on Christmas Day, together. Every so often Serena’s head will nod a little and Bernie will plant a kiss on her head as she grabs the wine glass before it can spill. “I’m just resting my eyes,” Serena will mumble through a smile. “Of course you are,” Bernie whispers back.

Eventually Elinor heads to bed with a half-hearted wave to the room, her Mum being the only person she might actually have considered hugging, but there was too high a risk of having also to hug Bernie for her to venture towards the sofa. “Night Ellie,” Bernie says, visibly braced for the huffed “night” thrown over Elinor’s shoulder.

Charlotte gives them both a tentative hug when she says goodnight, the pair of them dozing on the sofa and croaking their ‘goodnight’s from quiescent voiceboxes as she makes towards the spare bedroom.

Neither of them wakes when Jason and Cam turn in, Bernie by now snoring gently, her head tilted back on the sofa and her hand still at the side of Serena’s head. Serena is so peaceful, her head on Bernie’s chest, that Jason insists they watch her for at least 10 seconds to make sure that she is, in fact, breathing. “This is weird now,” Cam whispers, pushing Jason out of the room.

Bernie only wakes up when the downstairs toilet flushes; Serena when there’s a thud and an expletive in the hallway. They blink away sleep and look at one another, smiling. “Language, Cam,” Bernie calls softly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, putting his head round the door. “Stubbed my toe on that fu- bl- er, that table in the hall.” Cam had drawn the short straw and was on a camp bed in the conservatory.

“Sorry Cameron,” Serena says. “I’ll move the fucking bloody table on my way up.” She grins as both sets of Wolfe eyes widen on her.

“Ah, ha, night then,” Cameron says, rubbing the back of his head. “Merry Christmas again.”

They listen to him making his way back to the conservatory, heaping the blankets back over him to fend off the chill. “I feel terrible putting him in there,” Serena says. “I never thought this house would end up feeling too small.”

“He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine.” Bernie pulls her into a proper hug, squeezing tight in an effort to convey her love, her gratitude, her happiness. Kisses the top of her head, lays her cheek there for a second and then kisses her again.

“Would you like your Christmas presents?” she asks. It’s far too late, really, for presents – Serena can barely keep her eyes open – but she wants it to be today.

“More than one?” Serena asks, smiling. “I knew you’d be better at this than me.”

Bernie shushes her gently and puts an envelope in her hands. It’s small and made of thick paper; Serena can see the logo of some sort of stately home embossed on the back. She opens it carefully, making sure not to tear it too much, and pulls out the card inside. Reads it slowly.

“You’re taking me to a spa for the weekend?”

“No.”

Serena looks at her, puzzled.

“You’re taking Elinor to a spa for the weekend. Just the two of you. It’ll give you a chance to catch up. Maybe put in a good word for me. After all, you’ve got the best rooms in the place, breakfast in bed, three courses every night and as much wine as you can manage. And one or two treatments, - you know, just to keep up appearances.”

“Bernie.” Serena’s eyes are glistening in the half light. “This is… I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you for being so bloody wonderful. For being you.”

Bernie could bear to be looked at like that, by Serena, for the rest of her days, but she tears herself away to twist behind the sofa and pull out a box. “Number two,” she says, tapping the top of it as she sets it on Serena’s lap.

It’s not wrapped, of course. It’s ornate; intricately carved wood depicting various vignettes. Serena can tell from the wear at the corners and around the tiny handle on the front of the lid that it is at least as old as they are, probably older. The wood has a beautiful rich colour though, as if… She pauses. As if Bernie’s waxed it. That smell, a few weeks ago, that Bernie had unconvincingly explained away as the result of an unfortunate collision with a man in the hardware aisle.

Serena looks at Bernie, puts her hand to Bernie’s cheek and kisses her.

“Open it,” Bernie says.

Serena swings up the lid to find the box is home to several delicate wooden trays, separating the contents into layers. In the top one is a key.

“What’s this?” Serena whispers as she picks it up and turns it over in her hand.

“It’s a key to my flat.”

“But Bernie, you practically live here already. We definitely couldn’t do Christmas at yours.”

“I know.” Bernie blinks slowly, processing the words that will come next. “But I don’t want you to feel that there’s any part of me, or of my life, that is closed to you. So now you have that, and it’s yours to use whenever you like. No need to ask for permission. No need to even tell me you’ve been. I have no secrets from you.”

Serena is smiling; Bernie can tell she thinks it’s a bit silly, but that she’s also as touched as Bernie had hoped she would be. “Next layer,” she urges, looking back to the box.

Another key. This time a car key. Serena looks at her, lifting an eyebrow, and Bernie nods to confirm.

“Now this I will use,” Serena says, grinning as she leans over to land a kiss somewhere near Bernie’s ear. “Well I suppose you better had,” Bernie replies. “You cost a fortune to insure.” Serena looks aghast. “No laptops in this one.” A flash of red creeps up Serena’s neck, but Bernie only bumps her shoulder, laughs, tells her to forget it. “One more.”

Serena lifts up the tray containing the car key to reveal at the bottom a small notebook. It started life as a smart, softcover Moleskine but is now bloated by its miscellany of contents, dog-eared at the corners and bearing what looks very much like a coffee stain at one edge. Again Serena glances at Bernie and again Bernie nods, encouraging her to pick it up.

Inside, the pages are covered in Bernie’s distinctive scrawl, dates jotted here and there. It starts a few days after Bernie had left AAU. Serena can tell you the exact dates and times that she had texted or emailed Bernie during her secondment and she quickly notices the number of entries that follow them, the way they’re marked by heavy crossings out, sometimes whole paragraphs angrily scribbled over to leave just a few words visible.

_But I love you._

_I can’t bear this._

_Please god let her forgive me._

Stuffed between the leaves are tram tickets, coffee receipts, a postcard showing Mariinsky Park. On the back Bernie had filled out Serena’s address, alongside the message “I wish you were here”. Serena runs her finger along the line and looks at Bernie, her eyes asking all the questions that are failing in her throat. “Too corny, I know,” Bernie shrugs, hoping to bat them away.

A tear breaks down Serena’s cheek as she carries on flicking through the pages.

“You don’t have to read it now,” Bernie says. “You don’t ever have to read it. It’s not terribly poetic or anything. But it fills in the weeks where I stupidly left you alone, here, to deal with all of this. It’s all the things I did, everything I was thinking, all of the wishes I made.” Serena closes the book and squeezes it tightly before looking up at Bernie, who is gallantly blinking back her own tears. “I meant what I said: no secrets. And no more journals. I’m not going anywhere without you, ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to finish this; probably so long that no one's actually bothered any more! But I wanted to round things off, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Also I wanted to thank those of you who left me lovely comments; they really do mean a lot.


End file.
